(video)

[wipedclean]

[The video is showing two very different men sitting side by side on a couch in one of the apartments. The soldier, big, strong, metal arm, and still in his tactical gear but without his mask and goggles, seems to be showing the other, Steve, how to use the phone. The video joins this demonstration already in progress.]

Like that. See?

[He hands the phone over to Steve.]

And now it’s showing to everyone else.

[Steve’s figured out...well, most of the basics. Those that he could on his own. He was too stubborn to ask for help, but somehow Bucky must’ve known that he needed a little more instruction.]

Huh. [He takes the phone from the larger man.] So you’re saying that everyone can see and hear us right now? [The same way Steve has seen and heard others over the network. He blinks, expression brightening with an idea.] To everyone I haven’t met yet, my name’s Steve Rogers. And this is Bucky.

[Steve nods his head in his direction, but he never looks away from the phone.]

He used to like dancing. I don’t know if he does or not anymore, but if anyone needs a partner, it can’t hurt to ask.

[See what happens when you teach him things, Barnes.

For the soldier’s part, he turns his head to glare at Steve, then leans back into the couch, crossing his arms and scowling. He sure as hell isn’t going dancing with anyone.]

No one else calls me Bucky.

[The way it’s phrased, it’s clearly not a statement or a request. More like an order.

Only Steve gets to call him Bucky.]



(Bucky is red and Steve is blue. Replies will come from both.)

Comments

[wipedclean]

My handlers.

[They own him. They control him. They dictate his existence. He is their weapon, their tool.]

[quaerit]

[ Handlers.

Jesus Christ. ]

I see. And...do those handlers happen to be here?

[wipedclean]

Not yet.

[He can't really imagine that they wouldn't show up at some point, though the fear that they won't plagues him. He feels lost without orders or direction.]

[quaerit]

So then, you're free of them.

For the moment, anyway.

[ Until they appear, which Gansey has to admit is possible. The thought that a man's identity could be stripped like this, though...

It's like something from a movie. He doesn't know what to do with it, beyond feeling horrified. ]

[wipedclean]

[He frowns. "Free" is not the term he'd use.]

I lack purpose.

[He hisses it out, frustrated, because it's the thought that's been plaguing him since he got here. What is he without a mission? Nothing.]

[quaerit]

[ Well, that's...

kind of understandable, actually. It makes Gansey's eyes soften a little. ]

You might find that surviving here is something of a purpose in itself.

And you have your friend, there. It's not as though you're completely alone.

[wipedclean]

[He's still not happy, but he nods stiffly.]

Yes.

[And it's probably going to be difficult enough keeping Steve out of trouble, though he's not sure why he knows this so strongly.]

[quaerit]

Well, that's good.

[ How do you talk to someone like this? What's the right thing to say, what's the protocol? It's quite rare for Gansey to feel out of his depth, but he definitely does now. ]

So you're...from the forties, too? You seem better versed in technology than him.

[wipedclean]

[He can recognize the attempt to keep a conversation going, though he doesn't see much purpose in it.]

Yes. [He considers how best to explain, since he himself doesn't fully understand it. He's not meant to.] I'm... from many times.

[quaerit]

[ A pause.

Gansey frowns at him. ]

All right. What do you mean by that? You don't look much older than Steve, if you don't mind my saying.

[wipedclean]

[He's frowning right back. He doesn't remember his life, not fully, but he remembers scraps, bits and pieces which flutter and make little sense on their own, but can't quite be put together in any coherent way.]

I think... I'm... much older than I look.

[But it hurts to try to think about it too hard, and have such little recall.]

[quaerit]

[ …that sounds like a glorious understatement. ]

Older, like...1940s older? That would put you in your nineties, soldier. How is that possible?

[ A pause. Gansey is Gansey, after all. He’s so sorry for himself, Bucky. ]

Magic, of some description?

[wipedclean]

[He shakes his head.]

Science. No magic. I don't... know any more than that.

[quaerit]

You don’t know how it was done.

[ Or how it was done to him.

Jesus, what’s been done to him? There’s so much about this that makes no sense. Gansey can’t stop the growing suspicion that it shouldn’t make any sense, because it should never have happened at all. ]

I’m sorry. That seems quite wrong. Nothing like that should happen without your knowledge.

[wipedclean]

[At that, he shrugs, his attitude stunningly casual toward what Gansey apparently sees as an awful thing.]

There's no need to be sorry.

[quaerit]

I think there’s every need. But not from me, perhaps.

[ From the people who had done this to him? That’s another story. ]

I can’t say this is a better place to be. I hope it will be, though. For you.

[wipedclean]

[He frowns. He doesn't see the need for apology, not from anyone. He is what he is, and he's been used accordingly.

As for whether or not this place is better... he shrugs again.]

I don't know.

[There's no Hydra to guide him, but Steve is here. So far it balances out.]

[quaerit]

Well. I'll give you a couple of tips.

[ Gansey's smile is senatorial. The hand he uses to point is a flat palm, like he's directing traffic, and he gestures to one side. ]

Avoid the caves. That's where the monsters live, and I mean that literally.

[ Pointing to the other side. ]

The big building is the library, but the books are hard to read. The stores are where you'll find food and clothes, which Hope replenishes. Have you managed to find somewhere to live?

[wipedclean]

Yes. We're there now.

[He tilts his head in curiosity.]

What's wrong with the books?

[quaerit]

They’re not in English. [ Gansey shrugs, though he’s smiling, too. It’s not really that there’s anything wrong with the books. They’re a puzzle, and he’s fond of those. ]

Or in any other language I know, or recognize. My guess is that they’re in the language of the people who lived here before. There doesn’t appear to be a language barrier between any of us, even between those of us who are from different worlds altogether. But where the books are concerned, they’re alien.

It’s very strange.

[wipedclean]

[He looks a little perplexed by that.]

That is very strange.

[He's not a book person, otherwise he'd be all over it, but it's definitely curious anyway. Another piece of the whole Hadriel puzzle.]

[quaerit]

I think so, too.

[ Gansey is certainly a book person. Languages are not exactly his forte, but they don't put him off, either. ]

I'd like to know why the books are a mystery. Perhaps they hold something that someone doesn't want us to see.